The Wrath of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #5) (4 page)

Holding the pistol across his belly, the
bounty hunter held his horse firmly in check until the riders
slowed up in front of him, stopping their lathered-up mounts a mere
twenty feet from the nose of his snorting animal.

Iron Eyes chewed on the end of
his
cigar
silently. These were men who made the bounty hunter feel uneasy.
They were dressed like peasants but he had never seen so many
expensive pistols adorning so many unworthy hips before.

They were not what they seemed, and he knew
it.

The half-dozen bandits stared at the strange
rider who was blocking their way towards the town of Cripple Creek.
It was Malverez who edged his horse forward first and grinned
broadly at the bounty hunter.

‘
We wish you no harm,
senor.’

‘
That’s lucky for you,’
Iron Eyes said coldly. ‘I’d hate to have to kill you
all.’

Malverez glanced at the cocked pistol in the
rider’s hand and shrugged.

‘
Why do you hold a gun on
us? We are simple vaqueros looking for honest work.’

Iron Eyes raised an eyebrow.

‘
You ain’t
wanted. I’d know them faces if I’d ever seen them on Wanted
posters, friend. But I don’t think you’re
simple
vaqueros.’

Malverez felt the hairs on his neck rising
as sweat trickled down his back. He had no desire to tangle with
anyone who looked as dangerous as the horseman before him. A man
who was obviously more than capable of honoring his threats.

‘
Are you a bounty hunter,
amigo?’

Iron Eyes stared hard at the bandit
leader.

‘
Yep. I’m a bounty hunter.
Does that trouble you?’

Malverez smiled. ‘An honest man does not
fear anything.’

Iron Eyes glanced around the faces of the
sheepish men who flanked Malverez. None of them seemed willing to
look up from beneath his straw sombrero.

‘
I got me a
feeling that you men are more than you pretend to be, but if there
ain’t a bounty on your heads, it don’t much concern me.’ The bounty
hunter allowed his mount to walk to the side of the trail without
taking his eyes
off any of them.

One of the bandits drew his pistol from its
expensive holster and tried to aim at the skeletal rider.

Iron Eyes swiftly lifted his Navy Colt and
squeezed its trigger. The bullet tore through the hand of the
bandit sending the gun flying high into the air.

‘
That was a stupid thing to
do. I ought to kill the lot of you,’ Iron Eyes growled.

Malverez waved his hands around frantically.
‘Please, senor. Do not kill us. My friend is a fool.’

The bounty hunter drew his other pistol and
cocked both hammers at once. He trained the weapons on the six
men.

‘
Drop them guns, boys,’ he
ordered.

‘
Do as he
says,
amigos,’
Malverez instructed his men.

The riders peeled their guns from their
holsters and dropped them to the ground. Malverez carefully picked
his own pistol from his holster with his index finger and thumb and
let it fall to the ground.

‘
What is your
name,
senor?’

‘
They call me Iron
Eyes.’

Malverez nodded. He had heard the tales of
the infamous bounty hunter and knew that they were lucky to be
alive still.

‘
I have heard
of you,
amigo.’

‘
Many men have.’ Iron Eyes
waved his guns at the bandit. ‘I’ve killed most of the ones who
have, though.’

‘
Please excuse my
hot-headed friend, Senor Iron Eyes. He is most ignorant.’ Malverez
knew that if there was one man who could stop his small group of
bandits from completing their chosen task, he was looking straight
at him.

‘
The next time our paths
cross, I hope you’ll remember all them stories about me,’ Iron Eyes
said coldly. ‘Because they’re all true. If any of you varmints
cross my path again, I’ll kill you all, even if you ain’t worth a
dime.’

‘
But why would a famous
bounty hunter kill innocent men when there is no profit in it?’ the
bandit leader asked.

‘
Because
I like killing, friend. It’s what I do best.’ Iron
Eyes chewed on the unlit butt of his cigar and turned the
dapple-gray away from the motley group of riders. He spurred his
horse and rode past them towards the distant river and the Mexican
border.

Malverez dismounted and picked up - his gun
as his men did the same.

‘
Why did we not just kill
him?’ the bandit with the bleeding bullet-hole in his hand asked
angrily.

Malverez slid his pistol into
its hand-tooled holster. ‘You cannot kill this gringo so
easy,
amigo.
They say that he is already dead.’

Iron Eyes had spotted the ten Apache braves
to his right a few minutes after he had crossed the shallow
fast-flowing river and made his way deep into the Mexican
countryside. They had appeared silently high above the trail and
rode in single file, watching his every movement. Every so often
the lead rider would disappear behind the ridge and then reappear
at the rear of the line of Apache horsemen.

Iron Eyes did not like being followed so
blatantly but knew that that was the way of the Plains Indian. They
liked to torment their prey before striking. The brush was sparse
here and there were too many narrow gulches for his liking.

A perfect place for an ambush, he
thought.

Iron Eyes recognized the
distinctive broad,
colorful headbands wrapped around the skulls of the braves,
holding their long black manes of hair in check. The yellow paint
across their noses only confirmed the bounty hunter’s worst fears.
These were the Ochawa Apache and they were a long way from their
home up in the Arizona territories.

They were also the most deadly of all the
Apache people he had ever had the misfortune of running into. Like
himself, they seemed to enjoy killing for killing’s sake and did
not require any excuse to start doing so.

Iron Eyes had encountered Ochawa braves
before and knew they were not to be trusted. He had killed many of
their kind in the past when they had attacked him for simply being
on their land. The Ochawa were far more dangerous than any other
Apache tribe he had encountered.

He still bore the scars of their last
meeting.

Iron Eyes nursed the
dapple-gray along
the dried-up creek-bed and kept his head tilted so that he could
see where his observers were at all times.

The blazing sun bounced off the metal tips
of the war-lances which were secured to the necks of their ponies
with rawhide. The flashes danced down over the troubled Iron Eyes
as he continued to ride slowly along the well-used trail. Unlike
most Apache, the Ochawa seemed to relish displaying their vivid
colors for all to see. They had rifles wrapped in beaded sheaths
resting on their thighs as they steered their painted ponies along
the top of the sandy ridge.

The Ochawa knew that they could demoralize
most of their enemies by their sheer presence. It was a ploy that
had worked on all their foes except Iron Eyes. He was not impressed
by anything except an opponent’s skill. Unfortunately the Ochawa
also had this in abundance.

Iron Eyes knew that his reputation amongst
the numerous tribes of Apache had made his head a prized trophy
that few could resist trying to collect.

With the dried-up
riverbed winding
its way through the ever-narrowing ridges of white sand that
flanked the rider, the bounty hunter knew that his time was running
out and the Apache braves above him would soon attack.

An arrow landed a few feet in
front of the
dapple-gray but Iron Eyes sank his spurs into its flesh and
forced it to continue.

Then he noticed that a few of the Ochawa had
disappeared from the ridge leaving only seven braves in the silent
line of riders. This time the bounty hunter instinctively knew that
the warriors would not return to their fellow braves but come
charging out at him from any of the dozens of hiding-places along
the narrow trail. Iron Eyes carefully raised his left hand and
pulled the handle of one of his Navy Colts from his belt.

His thumb cocked the hammer of the pistol
and rested it on top of the saddle horn.

Iron
Eyes did not have time to wonder
where or when the Indians would attack. Suddenly, the three Ochawa
who had peeled off the main group galloped from around a corner in
front of the dapple-gray.

The deafening screams made the powerful
horse rear up and kick out at its attackers as Iron Eyes raised his
pistol and fired point blank at the lead rider. The brave was sent
headlong off the back of the painted pony and landed at the hoofs
of one of the trailing mounts.

The second pony went down, sending its rider
crashing into the white sand.

Iron Eyes blasted his gun again when he
heard the sound of the rifles being cocked above him. Deadly
bullets flashed through the afternoon air, tearing up the ground
all around the grim-faced bounty hunter. Iron Eyes fought to
control his terrified horse as the seven other Ochawa came charging
down from the ridge.

Luckily for the bounty hunter,
their
rifles
were single-shot Springfields, probably captured from a raid on a
cavalry fortress somewhere up in the distant territories of
Arizona. Even for well-trained troopers, it was no easy task to
control a horse and reload the carbines.

The
dapple-gray swung full circle as its
master fired his pistol in all directions at his
attackers.

Gun smoke filled the narrow gulch, making it
impossible to see all of his enemies clearly. Iron Eyes dropped the
empty gun into his deep left pocket, then hauled the other Navy
Colt from his belt.

Without even thinking, Iron
Eyes spurred his
gray straight at the descending Apache braves. His long arm
thrashed out at the riders frantically. He could feel the impact of
his gun barrel as it smashed into one skull after another whilst he
forced the strong horse up the sandy incline.

Iron Eyes did not want to waste
a single shot on these warriors because he knew that he would not
have any time
to reload. Every shot had to count and there were only six
bullets in the chambers of the Navy Colt.

Reaching the top of the ridge,
the rider pulled back on his reins and turned the
gray mount around
to survey what was left of his attackers.

An arrow swept out of the gun smoke and hit
him squarely in his left leg just below the knee. He felt his leg
being pinned to the thick fender of his saddle.

The horse reared up when Iron Eyes blasted
at the remaining Indians who were attempting to ride up through the
soft sand of the ridge. He did not waste time counting how many
fell from the backs of their painted ponies.

Iron Eyes sank his spurs into
the
dapple-gray and thundered off into the depths of the
Mexican sand dunes. He had no idea whether the Ochawa were chasing
him. All he could think about was the arrow that had pinned his leg
to the saddle fender. He had to find a place where he could extract
the shaft of wood and stop the bleeding.